


A Slight Repast

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning comes</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slight Repast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sex Is Fun! Challenge-A-Thon Thingie](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/574994.html)
> 
> Originally posted 2-29-08

Archie looks around the lodging with frank appreciation in his eyes. It’s far short of opulent, but far above merely serviceable, with girls that manage to remain lovely even after a week ashore. He’s yet to see his host and benefactor, and, while disappointing, it does nothing to diminish his enjoyment. There is plenty of wine and more than enough food and the beds soothe him to sleep as easily as the sea. He raises a silent toast to the foggy, wet day outside his window, greeting the day with bitter ale to wash down his sausage and tomato, the bread moist on his tongue, even without the weevils to which he’s accustomed.

The knock at the door is somewhat startling, but less so now that he’s grown used to maids and servants, chamber pots and fresh water delivered by tempting, voluptuous women more than happy to mess his bed before making it.

He gets to his stocking feet, far too lazy on his last day of freedom to clothe himself beyond breeches and a shirt. He unfastens the latch and opens it, leaning against the wood, expecting another low-cut blouse and pair of breasts that he can slather with honey from his toast. Instead his eyes fall on the rich red wool of the jacket of His Majesty’s Army, buttoned precisely across the puffed proud chest of the man funding his excursion into moderate decadence.

“My Lord.” He sketches a loose bow, the untied top of his shirt falling open as he bends forward. Edrington makes a noise, something between a scoff of disgust and amusement and moves past Archie into the room. Archie straightens and shuts the door, careful to set the latch and turn the lock. “I had expected a buxom young lass come to butter my bread for me.”

“Afraid you’ll have to slather your biscuit all on your own, Lieutenant. It is, I am assuming, Lieutenant and that the celebration I’ve given you on your achievement is not entirely in vain?”

“Lieutenant indeed, Sir.” Archie offers another bow, this one just an inclination of his head. “I had expected you a good five days ago. Does His Majesty rely on your services so much, my Lord, that you could not get away?”

“Impudent pup.” Edrington removes his sash and hangs it over the back of the chair, metal clanking against the wood. “While you lived here in the lap of something in the neighborhood of luxury, I was mired in a swamp of mud and muck that would make Muzillac look very much like an afternoon at the Palace.” His fingers undo the gold buttons, unfastening his jacket and letting it fall open around the pristine, snowy white of his waistcoat. He makes short work of that as well, shedding them both to the back of the chair and regarding Archie’s similar state of undress.

“You appear to have cleaned up rather well, My Lord.” Archie sits in the empty chair, his legs spread, his body sprawled, one arm hooked over the wooden back of his seat. He lets his eyes roam over Edrington’s body, pausing at the placket of his trousers.

“It does one no good to face the enemy covered in grime, Mr. Kennedy. I find it wise to wear my best when facing an adversary.”

Archie cocks an eyebrow as he lets his gaze move over Edrington once more, regarding his current state of undress. “And is this how you face an ally?”

“Is that what you call yourself, Mr. Kennedy?” Edrington’s fingers are long and elegant as he unfastens the buttons of his trousers, easing the fabric apart and tugging his shirt loose. Archie watches him, his own shirt dangling over the material of his trousers, hiding evidence of the heat building in his groin. “My ally?”

“Surely not your adversary, My Lord.” Archie reaches out and catches the fine linen of Edrington’s shirttail and rubs it with his fingers, feeling the smooth fabric against his rough fingertips. “Though there is some advantage to the provocation of antagonists, is there not?”

“Quite.” Edrington steps closer as he loops his fingers lightly around Archie’s wrist and tugs him to his feet. “And you are nothing if not provoking, Lieutenant.”

“I daresay I would not wish for you to tire of me, My Lord.” Archie can’t help the smirk that curls his lips, the daring smile that draws Edrington’s eyes to Archie’s mouth. “Especially as you’ve only just arrived.”

“So I have.” Edrington lifts Archie’s hand up, running his nose against Archie’s palm, watching as he shivers with the soft brush of breath against his skin. “Have you enjoyed availing yourself to my hospitality, Mr. Kennedy?”

“It has been quite delightful, my Lord.” Archie’s eyes are half-closed as he watches Edrington turn his head, flick his tongue against each of Archie’s fingertips. He fights the strong desire to groan, the muscles of his legs tightening in response to the teasing touch. “Though made better now that you’re present.”

“I doubt that you had time or chance to bemoan my absence, Mr. Kennedy, given the welcome company of the inn already enamoured of you.”

“It is not their admiration and attention I’ve come for, my Lord.” Archie leans in, mouth inches from Edrington’s, the heat of the room doubling at least, fueled by the heat of his own passion, the desire to push harder, go farther. “You know what I’ve come for.”

Edrington’s hand fists in Archie’s shirt and jerks him forward, his mouth moving roughly over the lips parted on Archie’s gasp. There is no tenderness in the kiss, just hunger and passion that flares deep in Archie’s belly and drives his hands to Edrington’s chest, unfastening buttons and pulling fabric apart to bare flesh. They move like madmen, desperate for air and each other, tasting skin so familiar and different all at once.

There’s a rough growl as Edrington undoes Archie’s trousers, pushing them down his legs like so much detritus. Archie feels the table dig into the back of his thighs and gasps, toppling a jar of jam and feeling the cool warmth of spilt milk against his spine. Edrington laughs against Archie’s mouth, holding him down and letting his sharp teeth catch Archie’s neck, tugging the skin until it stings then releasing it, leaving tracks of red marks that pulse with Archie’s overheated blood.

The wood beneath his back is smooth from many years of use, and Archie shifts across the surface as Edrington’s eyes move over him appraisingly. Archie doesn’t move as the gaze sweeps over him, no shame in being spread out across the dining table as though Edrington’s own buffet.

“Do you know the Bible, Mr. Kennedy?” Archie shivers at the heat in Edrington’s voice, in his gaze. Fingers dipped in milk being to trace over Archie’s skin, dampening the dark gold hairs over his stomach, trailing down toward his cock. “There is a promise made to deliver all of the devout to a land of milk.” He lifts his fingers from Kennedy’s skin and sucks the remaining white liquid from them before dipping them into the small dish next to Kennedy’s arm, the viscous liquid leaving sticky droplets on Archie’s thighs until it presses, cool and thick against his opening, pushing into him. “And honey.”

Archie’s hips rise off the table and he bites back a groan as Edrington’s fingers push inside him, thrusting thick and deep. He doesn’t speak, content to smile smugly at Archie’s open-mouth gasps as he frees his fingers to coat his skin in the same sticky sweetness, coating himself before pushing into Archie; his wet slick hands catching Archie’s hips and pulling him against him, rocking forward with a thrust that drives them both against the table again and again.

Archie wraps his legs around Edrington’s body, wanting him deeper with every thrust. His hand curves around his shaft, stroking the hard length in time to Edrington’s desperate strokes, both of them glistening with sweat and heat and need until Edrington’s body tightens, stilling deep between Archie’s thighs. Archie’s hips angle up again and Edrington thrusts forward, the final push shattering Archie’s control.

“It is a most fortuitous thing that the ship’s fare is far less opulent than this inn’s, my Lord.” Archie’s voice is breathless and rough as he catches Edrington’s wrists and pulls him down against him, grinding against the weight and pressure.

“How so, Mr. Kennedy?” He bites Archie’s lower lip, sucking on it for a long moment before breaking free to breathe.

“You’ve made quite sure I’ll never look at breakfast the same way again.”  



End file.
